Incarnations
by HeathenVampires
Summary: "So, have you tried this new body out yet?" Thirteen/Master one shot.


**DAMNIT BRAIN**

**Curse the smut bunnies (like plot bunnies, but for smut writing) that wouldn't leave me alone. **

**I know these two are unhealthy. I'm trash. Let's go. Ignores majority of S12.**

-DW-

As much as she'd complained all the times before about how she missed her longer legs of the previous regeneration, the Doctor was sure it would lose something if he'd been shorter than her as he leant in close, breathing against her ear in a way that made her shiver.

"So, have you tried this new body out yet?"

His fingers swept her hair aside, the way they brushed against her neck _almost _enough to make her squirm, though she suppressed it. Refused to give in.

"Only if you mean for escaping explosions."

That low chuckle of his often promised such terrible things, it was so wrong how it sent a thrill through her, her hearts beating quicker.

"I'd been hoping you'd get some curves at last. I must say, I do miss mine. Missy was probably a favourite of mine."

The Doctor wondered how Missy would have dealt with _her, _though honestly, the looseness with which Time Lords approached such things as gender and sexuality, she wholly expected Missy would _still _have pinned her to a wall and kissed her violently amongst the tanks of hidden Cybermen.

"She definitely had better dress sense than you. Same disrespect for personal space though."

"You're wearing _that _and you're insulting _my _dress sense?"

She finally found the wherewithal to shrug him off, shaking away the phantom sensation of his touch on her skin.

"Purple was her colour. Not sure it's yours."

He hmmphed, breathing deep and closing his eyes. The way he wore his hair now, longer than some of his previous incarnations, soft and shiny looking and hanging over his face... it made him look so _young, _it was ridiculous. There was nothing innocent in him, though. Young and lethal, madness obviously having long consumed him.

She cursed herself for still being so very weak for the Master. He'd been all that was left of Gallifrey for her for far too long.

Some things about him never changed; he was forceful, rough, hand twisting in her hair with a comment that he liked it longer before his mouth was on hers. It was never with finesse; he kissed like he moved, manic and angry and _burning_ inside. Her hands fluttered uselessly against his chest, planning to push him away until she felt the thrum of two hearts thumping steadily.

How many of their previous selves had done this awful dance? How close had others come? Her previous self and Missy had never crossed the line, but Missy had pushed buttons the Doctor didn't know were there, came closer to breaking the regeneration with the strangely familiar face than either had admitted at the time.

And now the lines were crossed again, with the strangeness of her softer shape pinned by his solid form, his stubble against her smooth face.

Of course, the soft shape was something of a facade, and Time Lords (or Ladies) were not quite as fragile as most species assumed their females to be. The Master grunted as she shoved him, hissing as his grip yanked at her hair before letting go. Apparently, pain still sent a twisted thrill through her traitorous nervous system; she hadn't been lying about the fact she hadn't 'tried out' her current body yet. And the Master had always been rough, and she'd _always _responded to the pain.

What _was _new was what it _did_ to her. The tingling, pulsing dampness that became evident between quivering legs was something unknown, and it took a minute for her to even recognise it was her own arousal.

The Master growled and grunted as she pushed in, cursing at the complicated fastening of all the bloody _layers _he had on, torn between telling herself that it wouldn't happen again and telling him he needed clothes that were easier to take off in the future. He snapped her braces against her shoulders just to hear her gasp before pushing them down, stubble scraping her throat before his teeth sank in to her neck.

She'd have to heal that before the others came back, because no _way _was she explaining it.

The Saxon-Master had been leaner, and Missy curvier. This incarnation was broad and built, well-defined muscles under her fingers when they made it under his clothes at last. He was never one to stay still for long, reaching behind her and yanking up both her undershirt and t-shirt, nails scratching her back on the way up.

Yaz had had to teach her how bras worked when she got her new body. When the Master tore the clasp to pieces rather than unhook it, the Doctor made a mental note she'd need a new one. A short, none-too-graceful fumble left piles of fabric on the floor and both of them topless. Fiery lines burned on her back from his nails, bruise on her neck throbbing, the dampness between her legs growing.

Coarse curls of hair on his chest tangled around her fingers, his hands on her hips tightening when she tugged.

"I think my favourite thing about this new body of yours is that there's no fight for top with this regeneration."

Even then, they'd never really ceded to each other, just used their bodies to prove that penetration didn't mean surrender.

"We'll see about that."

His hand pressed to just below her collarbone, seeking the sound so unique to the two of them now. The same sound that had driven him to madness, but still he sought the four-beat rhythm from her. If she focused, she could feel the flutter of his double-pulse in his fingertips. His new skin was darker than hers, standing out against her chest as his hand slid down and groped her roughly. His hand curving to the shape of her breast was new, but the twisting mix of pain and pleasure was all too familiar with him, his free hand back in her hair, his teeth against her lower lip. They always left each other bloodied and bruised.

"These trousers are ridiculous."

"You're not even wearing a bowtie!"

He rolled his eyes, continuing to disparage her choice in wardrobe as though _he _had room to talk, both regretting that they didn't think to take their boots off first until his trousers were just below his knees, hers pooled at her ankles and threatening to make her trip over.

Finally free of all cumbersome clothing, she felt the cold floor of the TARDIS at her back, the engines clanging once before falling silent at her reassuring thought of "_it's ok, I'm ok". _The Master's mouth left its mark on more of her skin, sucking and biting bruises from neck to navel, eyes dark and feral as he set to exploring the different shape of her. She was sensitive in places she'd never _had _before, his fingers pressing inside her utterly alien and almost entirely wonderful, with an edge of discomfort in her previously-untouched body.

He saw every sound of pleasure she made as a victory, an allowance she gave him, a bit more control taken. Even the wet slide of his tongue sending sparks of pleasure through her was more for his own curiousity than her satisfaction. His teeth in her thigh were a sharp reminder that he wanted to hurt her, break her, that the line between sex and savagery was incredibly thin.

At first, she let him think he'd won. The Master had no time for gentle and patient, his cock inside her an urgent, eager pressure that left her breathless and dizzy for a moment. He used her, but she used him in turn. Perhaps even more so. She used him for a silent moment of nostalgia, the scent of Time Lord sweat on his skin, the tang of Time Lord blood on her tongue when she bit down on his shoulder. Her nails raked down his back, whole body shuddering atop her; he thrilled in the pain just as she did.

Her mind stayed firmly shut, no matter how many times he scraped at her defenses, growling when he felt the refusal of telepathy. The connection between them should have been as natural and instinctive as their people intended, but with the Master, that sort of intimacy was galaxies away from the rough, angry fucks they shared despite her better judgement.

"Hey!"

His surprise was evident as she rolled them, slamming him down on his back and finding it_ so_ much better for her on top, slowing his aggressive thrusts and letting her control the depth, the angle.

"What? You thought I'd just lie back and take it?"

"You've got the body for it."

He grunted as she moved, reminding him she was just as strong, every inch of her as Time Lord as he was. He was only saying it to wind her up, the flash of amusement in his dark eyes showing his glee that it had worked. The Doctor ground herself down, reaching out of habit before realising this body didn't have a cock of its own, though the tight heat that burned low in her belly was much the same. Not to be left out of control, the Master's hands pawed at her chest and hips, nails digging in to leave fingertip bruises, staining her skin with his touch.

Eyes rolling back in his head, hips surging up wildly, the Master's hands clamped down on her hips and the words that left his mouth would have chilled her if she wasn't already teetering on the edge of climax.

"We might not be the last of our kind after tonight."

Before rational thought could kick in, she felt as he pulled her down, holding them flush as he buried himself deep and spilled, thick and hot inside her body. Her female, _fertile _body, orgasm washing over her to chase away the panic for just a few seconds.

Catching her breath, both hearts pounding so hard even _he _must be able to hear them, the Doctor almost dared not move, the feel of his come dripping down her thigh a jarring reminder of his words. The bite on his throat was still trickling blood, bruises on his chest where her fingers dug in, and when he sat up there were smears of blood on the TARDIS floor.

He pushed her off and picked up his clothes like it was the most normal thing in the world, smirking as he watched her scramble back in to her own, shoving the ruined bra in to the inside pocket of her coat to deal with later. Fixing his collar and running fingers through his hair, the Master looked remarkably unruffled. If not for the mark on his throat and the scent in the air, the stickiness she felt on her legs, it was almost as if nothing had happened.

"Until next time, Doctor."

A mocking salute, a creak of wooden doors and he was gone. She rushed to the closest bathroom (which the TARDIS made nice and close to the console, as though knowing what she needed), scrubbing him off her, cleaning away the blood and putting on fresh underwear. As she redressed, seeing three visible bruises above her shirt collar, the Doctor took herself to the medicine cabinet. Well, she said cabinet, but it was really a whole room of cabinets, with medicine from all over the universe.

Bruise balms took care of the marks, fading them away to nothing. There was one explanation she wouldn't have to make when the humans came back. The other thing, however...

She plucked the bottle out of the cabinet marked "birth control", knowing in the back of her mind it was a sort of... 'morning after pill', as the humans called it, and it was one she knew worked on Time Lords.

_We might not be the last of our kind._

Of all the ways to bring back the Time Lords, the Doctor didn't consider _that _even a slightly good plan. But that lingering itch for Gallifrey in the back of her hearts, refusing to be quashed no matter how she tried to ignore it... it made her hesitate, fingers faltering on the cap of the bottle.

-DW-

**This was brought to you by sleep deprivation and ADHD, enjoy!**


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